


i was all over him

by dookofspook (milochristian)



Category: Twenty One Pilots, twenty one pilots self titled - Fandom
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Character Death, Drama, Grief/Mourning, Haunting, M/M, Mystery, Paranormal, Pining, Thriller, Tysh, ghost - Freeform, human/ghost relationships, joshler - Freeform, tyler joseph x josh dun - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-04
Updated: 2019-06-16
Packaged: 2019-10-03 21:40:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17291942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/milochristian/pseuds/dookofspook
Summary: Tyler Joseph hasn't been home in a while, but Josh Dun is asking for him, and one must be obedient to the dead.Specter (spektər):a spirit of a previously living individual, confined at the location of their death in a dimension unseen to humansEmpath (empaTH):a person with the ability to communicate with specters. The empath must have been born at the same location as the specter's death site.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Chcy9K6ywjA
> 
> Hi this isn't edited at all lol, but I had an idea and I'm finding it really hard to return to DeathWish, so sorry. I might work on this and DW at the same time, but who knows. 
> 
> In case you didn't read the story synopsis, a specter = a ghost, an empath = living human that can communicate with specters. Guess who the specter is in this one????
> 
> Song is I was all over her by Salvia Plath. did I write a whole story based off this one song? Kinda. enjoy please. x Milo

One could compare a phone call at 3 am to some sort of resurrection from the dead, if one was an egoist so as to compare oneself to Lazarus, a miracle, or, for the more self loathing, a leper. What may have been a gracious gift of god, the relief of rolling the stone away and stepping into blinding light instead willing oneself up off the couch and into the fluorescent warm lights of a kitchen. Wandering blindly towards Bethany is instead towards the receiver, a man's salvation comes from either the word fallen from heaven, or from a rubber stopper, a compact speaker put to the ear.

Standing there a moment in the early morning chill, feet sticking to tile, I had wished I knew why I stood there, why I took the call at all. After all, no call at 3 am could be worth the trouble. If I knew it all, then I wouldn't be in the kitchen with the buzzing light, naked despite the boxers that clung unaffectionately to my hips by an early morning sweat.

And yet, I had known the feeling immediately, had felt it that night, carried in by the wind as I sat in the automobile, and in the meeting, consultation after consultation, signature after signature, pause for lunch. Stamp the damn papers, and told Jenna, the pretty blond secretary to hold the next call. I had said to her, let them wait five damn minutes. Bless her heart, a woman is always cleaning up after the messes that men make.

The traffic, I seemed to remember, had been frightful, and yet in the blink of an eye I remember being back to my small apartment in West Hollywood, setting suitcase down, and, feeling that sudden breeze, once again closed the damn window which seemed to open on its own accord. After that, it must have been changing, feeding the cat and myself and falling asleep, once more in front of the television. An overall unremarkable day.

But still, I had known something was afoot, slightly out of place. A telephone call at 3 am cemented this fact.

I pressed the speaker to my ear, and mutter spiritless, "Yes? Hello? You do know what time it is, right?"

"This is Tyler Joseph I'm speaking to?"

Tyler Joseph was a facade, an identity made on a foundation of sand that had been swept away by the tide of a half decade. I was not yet 22 when I had brusquely changed to Robert Joseph, my grandfather's name, but as I would argue, a much more formidable name. A proper gentleman's name. After all, no one would meet a Head of Finances by the name of Tyler.

"Yes, this is him speaking."

A practiced laugh cut through the speaker. "Well, I'll be damned." It was a woman's voice, animated, you could almost hear her holding something back, and I've never been one who was enthusiastic about playing games of memory.

My response was not quite as delicate as I had hoped, but the frustration of an interrupted sleep weighed deeply in my mind and sharpened my tongue. "And just who the hell is this?"

"Oh, I suppose it's been some 8 years, but that doesn't give you an excuse to hide away and deny your years as a country boy, Ty." She tittered playfully.

But it had given me an idea, few had known me as Tyler, even fewer as Ty, which was practically a pet name from my late childhood. I was very well a teenager by the birth of that pet name. And I could only think of one who leaned so heavily into the name. The playfulness, callousness of calling at 3 am, 8 years, and pet name had all led to one person.

"Ashley Dun?"

"Congratulations. Have you really forgotten my voice? It's only been 8 years, Ty." Ashley, as always, sounded both excited to hear from me and disappointed in me. It was undeniable that we had once had a great friendship, but that had dried up in the Los Angeles sun, as I discontinued contact after my move. I couldn't remember exactly why I hadn't stayed in contact with anyone, but I'm sure it seemed a decent enough plan at the time. Maybe even a genius one. But the years had dulled me, I was now a man nearing 30, with no history and no family.

"Yes, well I apologize, I had forgot just how grating your inimitable enthusiasm had been for a blissful few years."

"Charming as always." She murmurs, and then snaps back to pure delight, "How are you, my dear? Clancy hasn't been the same without you and Josh crashing your bicycles into Chris Salih's car. I'm afraid everyone's grown and no one's the better for it."

Clancy. In a moment, the word had resurrected long gone, earnestly repressed memories, all bittersweet, some more pleasant than others. It brought back crisp evenings, foggy walks, repaired jeans after basketball in the drive way ended in calamity, lit sparklers, enjoyment until the last spark of life each of them brought. It brought back hand-me downs, sticky fingers of melted popsicles, and a backyard full of witches and monsters my siblings we all knew by name and knew how to tame. There had been Saturday nights, sneaking out and then repenting for the previous day's sins on the Lord's day. My mother would drag me to church, her bible in one hand and my ear in the other. But church meant stopping at Kroger's on the way home, and each kid popping out of the car and running through the store while mom called for us and dad looked on.

How had every day seemed so long back then? How was every day so unique and memorable? How could any adult awaken in the mornings, just to know life would never be magical again? That the only thing awaiting them was age.

My god, 3 am, no, surely it would have been 3:20 by now. Yes the lemon shined oven said as much, and the crickets chirped the same. I groaned, as quietly as I could muster as to not seem rude.

"So you still live on Clancy then."

"Oh, yes, same house. It was difficult, for everyone after what happened, heaven knows it was a struggle for myself as well, but I couldn't force myself to leave that house. Ruby will tell you, we had to have the whole thing fumigated, and then had to pry my fingernails out of the mahogany. But the place looks much better for it now, no more pests inside, although I sometimes imagine a bunch of little rodent specters dancing upon our polished floors and it only makes me feel the slightest bit guilty." Ashley is, unsurprisingly a conversationalist in the pre-dawn hours, with such talents for anecdotes that should rival that of a televangelist. But then again, it is 6:20 there in Columbus, which is still quite a grim hour indeed.

I was--and never shall be--fond of televangelists, or anyone who believes themselves worthy of choosing my salvation for me. If the stories are true, then Hell would seem quite more entertaining and lively than its counterpart. But I was getting ahead of myself.

I wiped the sweat just starting to form upon my brow, and felt the uncomfortable stick of my bare upon tile as I shifted my weight. I take a few moments to collect my thoughts, and then respond, "Ashley, it's occurring to me now that I have a number of questions for you. Firstly, you live in Columbus and I in West Hollywood, and we have not talked for years, so how did you come upon my telephone number? Do you know what time it is? And finally, why in the blazing hell are you calling me at 3:25? What's so important that after 8 years you had to call?" I didn't mean to increase in volume each sentence, but by the end I remember being so worked up that I slumped against my counter.

"Well, Tyler, these are all good questions. Phone books exist dear, and you must have thought yourself clever to have gone by Robert Joseph, but not smarter than me. I am aware that it is 3:30 by you, but this is the utmost importance."

I snorted uncontrollably. "I highly doubt that."

"And I can assure you, it is," she said firmly, but with warmth. She paused nonetheless, I imagined this was because Ashley was always one with a flair for the dramatics.

"Well, then, out with it," I beg.

"Alright then. It's about Josh." She chirped exuberantly, and I could feel the sigh leave her, all that pent up excitement, and she, like those fireworks, had been set off.

She was lucky, because that was the first time that she had left me speechless.

Josh. Curly black hair, the smile that melted the coldest of hearts--mine. Joshua William Dun. Who had been dead for a little over 8 years. Died with me hiding in his closet, hiding from his family, but never from Ashley. She had known everything that had happened between us two, and nonetheless, she loved us. The one who had sneaked me in, had opened the window, and had let me see him that winter night when he shivered and yet sweat.

"What...what does this have to do with Josh?" I had been shaken, and felt the shiver that ran down my spine. The shiver whose name was Joshua Dun.

This time, her voice wasn't soft or quite as high, this time it felt dark, a suffocated flame, "He's back, Tyler. Ruby's been talking to him and he said he wants to see you."

Yes, this was a very different 3 am, and a very queer night all together.


	2. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One in darkness, and one in light, Tyler and Josh meet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took a while to come out, I just wanted to make sure it was quality and writing this story can be a little draining emotionally. The flashback parts begin in 1952, and they'll end around 1955 or so, with the current parts taking place in the early 1960s. Hope you enjoy! x Milo
> 
> Hometown (Sleepers Version): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n0GTZWJzn2Q

October 31, 1952

Looking back nearly a decade to remember the day I met Josh, everything was obscured by that dreamlike haziness that childhood so often casts. A lazy autumn floated in on golden tinged wings and froze the town of Columbus in a season so begotten by tradition that one felt they lived in an old painting back in the settlers’ times. Often I looked down my street and imagined the clunking of hooves, a breath of steam, and a headless man cloaked in silks roaring down the street, until my mother would cease my daydreams with the honk of her automobile.

“Tyler, stop holding my hand, you're crumpling my sleeves,” my brother begged in a tinny voice under his aluminum robot costume. I looked down to see that indeed, I had left a dent in his pipe arm that dad had wrestled off the washing machine and dusted off.

“Tyler, watch Jay's sleeves, we've only got two of those pipes and we won't be visiting a laundromat when the streets freeze over.” My father grumbled, his nose in a newspaper, groping around blindly beneath his lawn chair for another beer. There was a distaste in his voice as he found the last can and plead with my mother, “While you’re at the grosh, Honey, can you get another pack of PBRs? I think this is the last one.”

“What are you dressed up as Daddy?” Jay asked by my side.

“I’m a dad on vacation.”

“He’ll be a drunkard if he keeps going, Tyler, seriously, watch your brother’s sleeves. Maddy, buckle yourself up.” My mother snapped from the car seat, in that same exhausted tone she maintained for 19 years. “Ok, I’m going to go get a new crown for Maddy, Chris this is your last beer, and don’t let Jay out of your sight, Tyler.”

“Why am I getting stuck with Jay? Why not Zack, he’s still home.”

“Zack is going out tonight, seeing that Tatum girl again.”

“But he owed me from last time!”

“You weren’t even planning on going out Tyler, I’m sure it won’t hurt you or your new high school reputation to leave the house and watch your brother.”

“But--”

The look that flashed across her face was one that stopped thought, stopped arguments immediately, and it was all that needed to be said. Words are unnecessary when mothers have trained themselves in the art of the look.

“Fine.” I grumbled.

A great bright smile flashed my way as she patronizingly chimed, “Great! We’re going now, you two be back by ten. Chris, no more drinks.” My father only grunted in response.

In those early years, it always intimidated my mother to drive, she told me she was a city girl, and was used to city rules. Her family had never had a car, and just a year earlier, in her late thirties, my father had taken it upon himself to teach her. She kept her bible in the glove box, and a prayer always in her heart each time she rolled down the street.

And so my brother, father and I watched her, as she gingerly reversed her way out of the driveway, past ghouls and witches, but no headless horseman.

It took my brother a firm tug at my shoulder to bring me back. “What are we waiting for? There’s candy out there and we’re on a limited time schedule!”

Jay had meant it when he said schedule, I stifled a groan as he pulled out a folded piece of paper with a few faintly sketched boxes of our cul-de-sac and the streets on either side, scratched in names with arrows pointing to houses.

“Jesus, Jay.”

“Mom says you’re not supposed to say that.” He responded, pulling me forward, and I suddenly felt very much like that kid Mark Eshleman’s cats that he tried to put on leashes, and who growled as he drug them behind him on the kitchen tile. “Up this street are the best houses for candy, for the last two years four of them in a row have been giving out full candy bars!” Drawn next to these ‘best houses’ are darker rectangles that I assume are meant to be candy bars. Even if Jay was annoying, he still demanded respect from a young age for his organizational skills.

Little dots with triangle ends traveled up the street I noticed as I squinted at the paper.

“What do those shapes mean?” I found myself asking, unable to maintain my aloof annoyed teenage façade.

“Those are smaller candies, this one here is old Ms. Ryan, she only gives out those hard candies. I think she’s had them since the prehistoric times!”

Old Ms. Ryan was decently old, and sure she smelled, but she was also decently kind, and always brought over the post cards her salesman son sent her, with scrawling handwriting and faded pictures of happy people – From Austria, Budapest, Paris with Love! She even let me keep the ones I liked the best, and so I had had them – From Croatia with Love! decorating my walls, and I would lie on my bed, and dream of the day when I could escape cold and miserable Columbus, Ohio. I imagined what my post card would look like.

From Columbus, with Despair.

Save me.

Yours truly, Tyler Joseph.

Would it be the only post card I would ever write? Even back in those days, I always had that fear that Columbus would be the be-all-end-all for me. Of course, one exaggerates and is keen to hyperbolize in youth, but this fear would reveal itself to be of certain legitimacy some ten years later.

And so, we followed the path that my brother had set, his head stuck in his list and mine in despair, the despair of uncertainty, the dread of ignorance to one’s own future. I accept now that such despairs were encouraged by my own mental instability, in a time when I was numbed, it was better to fear than to feel nothing.

But the nothing was swallowing, it was insatiable. No light escaped it. Was I a great big cat, or was my head already above the mantelpiece?

Was I already done for? And how exactly could I know when the nothing was all that remained?

Such dark thoughts for a boy not yet 18. I didn’t escape the dark for a moment so much as live and function through it. I had grown with it so that I seemed functioning. I knew when to smile, to say thank you, and to drive Jay away from the road as a car approached.

I may not have known the future, but for the time being, I wanted to be a better brother, better son. And I would continue my attempts until my family told me otherwise.

More houses crossed off, the bags of candy became heavier until Jay began to struggle, and I offered to carry his, if I could have his wax bottles. He agreed immediately, as he had never liked them, and for years I had always found a stash of wax bottles hidden in my drawer on November 1st. So he clutched his list and I his precious candies, and we were nearing the end of the list when I noticed the house with the Question Mark.

“What’s the question mark mean?”

“Those are the new neighbors, so I don’t have their names or anything about them. Do you think I should give them the questionnaire while we’re there? It could be beneficial in the long run.” Jay was already the hamster in the wheel, far away and he muttered to himself about statistics as he avoided stepping on the pavement cracks. Despite his exhausting nature, Jay had always been the most sympathetic towards myself, he even grieved me after my family denied me and the phone calls continued in secret for a few years until he had been found out.

As we continued, my mind continued to wander, continued the attempt to find an exit from the nothingness, but all I kept returning to was the Question Mark House. And so, when we reached the house, I was already under the illusion that something quite spectacular would be there.

Instead, there was a freshly cut lawn littered with cans of beer, a toilet paper decorated tree, and a bent mailbox. Walking up the cobblestone walkway, I steered Jay away from broken glass, and observed the red carnations, freshly trampled.

“Are you sure about this house, Jay? I don’t even see a bowl or anything left outside.” I attempted to hide my nerves, as I watched silhouetted shapes move around in the house windows. “Maybe we can come back another day, when there’s not a party.”

He shook his head vehemently. “Unacceptable. We’ll never learn if we never take risks. ‘Life is either a daring adventure or nothing at all.’”

Jay was often, unfortunately right, but I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

“Well, Helen Keller didn’t consider crashing a teen party on Halloween.” I was getting in front of him to push him away when a shadow stepped out into the porch light.

“You’re looking for candy? Sorry, we kept the bowl inside.” He pivoted, putting his foot into the door and reaching inside, the light illuminating soft dark curls. Laughter spilled from the house, along with what sounded like live music that pressed hard against my ears.

The door closed then, and as Jay and I approached he held the bowl up for us.

“Sorry about the noise. My sister’s party. She said was going to keep it small, but Ashley and my definitions of the word are a little different.”

“Yeah, it seems that way,” I responded as Jay cupped his ears with his hands.

“That’s what you get for having an older, cooler sibling I guess,” he laughed, tired and breathy, it was then that I noticed the cigarette hanging from his lips. His all black costume did him no favors, and he was obscured by the darkness, but his voice was comforting.

“Yeah, I guess.” I echoed, and then I noticed I was still clutching on to Jay’s bag. I went forward, up the porch steps, and watched the smoke drift lazily into the air as candy entered the bag. “Thanks,” I whispered.

“No problem.” His response was quiet, warm, and he cleared his throat. “You two are neighbors, right?”

Back then, I would have said that I allowed Jay to speak, but now I accept that it was in fact, Jay speaking for me. “Yep! We’re the Joseph’s, I’m Jay, and this is my big brother Tyler. I’m wondering if you’d allow me to ask you a few questions?” Jay was already taking out the list, and even in the darkening light I could distinguish the stranger’s confused face.

“It’s just a questionnaire, Jay does it for everybody. Just names and things.” My response apparently worked, as he relaxed and agreed. He took a drag from his cigarette and motioned to my brother.

“You may proceed.”

I always suggested that Jay keep his most intimidating and provoking questions for the end, yet he insisted that they must be first so he could get an emotional first response. And Jay’s face betrayed him when the stranger continued with his relaxed posture as he answered the first question: Why did you move here? His father had gotten a new job, and his parents wanted to move him and his sister into a more friendly religious school. His father was currently on a business trip, he often was, and his mother was out for the night with a party. He paused before mentioning his mother, and a small frown etched his face for only a moment. It was enough for Jay. Then, there was how many members of the family, what ages, what names. His parents were Laura and Bill, and he had three siblings, the aforementioned Ashley, Abigail (preferably Abby, which Jay added as a sidebar) and Jordan. Three siblings, the same as me. He was the second eldest, also the same as me. Jay was sure to mention our similarities. The not-so-stranger found it interesting as well, and continued to watch me as Jay continued down his list and I attempted to keep his eye contact. The family had one pet, a golden retriever named Jim, who enjoyed evening walks, apples and fetch, and would very much like you to pet him, thank you very much. The more I learned, the more comfortable I began to feel, and it felt less guilty to look, to share a glance. I found that I quite enjoyed looking at him. It felt like time, years had passed, and none at all, as Jay asked his final question.

“And what is your name?”

“Josh.” The boy responded. “Josh Dun. Or Joshua William Dun? Will it skew your findings if I give you my full name?”

“It’s sufficient.” Jay responded, as he folded up his questionnaire, and passed it right along to me. “I’ll give these to my secretary to file.”

Josh angled his head slightly, looking to me, and realizing, along with myself, that I must be the secretary he spoke of. “Oh yes, well I’m sure he’s great at his job,” his smile felt unfortunately genuine, as he laughed delicately. “Although I’m surprised to find that robots need secretaries, I would think they’d be fully capable of filling their own paperwork. Much less, pirate robot secretaries?”

“Oh,” I recalled weakly, looking down and remembering my clunky father’s boots, the bandana around my head, and the very fake parrot that was shedding feathers all along my shoulder. “Yes, well, they’re very necessary. Only pirates can do the job.” I enjoyed his laughter for a moment. “And what are you dressed as?”

I had caught him off-guard, and he was defenseless, struggling to find an answer. “I guess, I’m dressed as myself? Though I don’t suppose that works, now does it?” He laughed.

But Jay did not laugh. “You need a costume Josh! Or the witches and demons will come to get you! They come for any kid on Halloween who isn’t dressed up!” He responded urgently. “We need to get you a costume!” Immediately, Jay turned to me, “Tyler, give him something! Give him your bandana!”

“What? Why?” Jay was already hopping up on me and pulling it quite painfully off my head with no regard for my neck. “Jesus, Jay! You could have just asked for it.” He only grinned at his success, and ran to pass it over to Josh, who held it in his hand, a little confused.

“Put it on around your neck!” He did as Jay wished, tying it around his neck but still seeming lost. “See? You can be a biker now! Now you’re safe!”

“What the hell Jay--” I began, until Josh cut in.

“Oh, thank you, I feel so much safer now! Your plan worked Jay!” He sent a wink my way.

“All in a day’s work. I keep these parts safe from witches and demons and specters, Tyler’s my assistant. He’s pretty good too. One time, we had this really noisy specter in our house that was knocking all sorts of stuff over and Tyler was the only one who could calm it down. Turned out to be our grandfather.”

“That’s enough, Jay.” At least since the sun was nearly set, Josh possibly couldn’t see the shade of scarlet my ears had become. Or if you could, he was being very courteous about it.

“Wow, that’s impressive! I’m glad we won’t have to worry about that at our house, because none of us are empaths to the house. But that’s cool, Tyler.”

It was then that a great crashing occurred in the house, something like the breaking of glass, and Josh nearly jumped in the air.

“Oh, shit! Oh, sorry! Ash’s friends. Hopefully it’s not one of my mom’s vases, and I need to make sure Jim is somewhere safe! Sorry, I’m--I’m gonna have to go now if that’s okay. Listen, thanks for the bandana--I’ll clean it and bring it on back to your place! Which house is yours?” Josh asked frantically, his body almost all the way into the door, a small halo of light appeared to dance atop his head.

“The one with the blue paneling and three columns on the porch, and a hexagon window, it looks like it's cut in three, down that way,” I pointed to the left. “End of the cul-de-sac.”

He nodded in understanding. “Thanks. I’ll get it back to you. See you too soon. Good to meet you Jay.” Now only his head was out of the door. “Good to meet you Tyler.”

“Good to meet you too, Josh.” He was already inside by the time I responded, and then Jay and I were in darkness.

Well, not complete darkness, because there was still the light, the porchlight of Joshua Dun’s house, to guide us back down the path until my brother drug me along to the next house.

Good to meet you too, Josh.


	3. 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tyler arrives in Columbus Ohio.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiya. I want to mention that my depictions of the Duns, and for that matter, every character in this story, is fictional. The Duns and the Josephs both seem like awesome families, and I appreciate them all so much. So yeah, in this story I'm gonna paint some of them in a not awesome light, but this isn't about them as people, they're characters in a story. Also, these modern day sequences are in the early 60s for context.
> 
> TW this chapter: Implied homophobia, brief violence (just pushing someone over)

Somewhere, there was a hearse parked on the side of a once well-travelled, and now ancient road. Imagine it. The potholes of this road were numerous, so much so that when one is driving, it is more an obstacle course than Sunday morning drive. It's was a long and uncomfortable journey, disliked by many, and thus, few journeyed there. Half those times were those who have never had the displeasure to meeting this road, but they learned quickly enough to turn the other way. But the one who returned, was either a fool, or one who, very much like the hearse on that day, was out of options.

The passenger remained in the seat, while another man, hunched over and aggravated, kicked at a tire repeatedly. They are both in black suits and have familiar faces.

“We should have gotten gas at the last town,” The passenger remarked from behind a creased, unfolded map. Out of the side mirror, he can see the twisted, bent shape of the shorter man.

“It isn’t the gas, it’s the goddamn road! Why would any bastard take this godforsaken road?”

When one drives, you may realize that there are limited options, veins of roads may flow through a city, but very often three or four paths will guide you exactly, to the place that you need. This is different than an old country road. You come from one direction, you exit the other. There is no second option. Life may feel like this sometimes, like you took a wrong turn a while back and now you must travel that road for a while. When one has gas, they can, in the very least, continue driving up a path and see if it connects back to the main road. Terrible tragedy may also strike, the loss of someone or something may feel like a tire getting blown out. But when gas is gone, every possibility is gone, each hope dried up, and you are left knowing that your inaction caused it. I can assure you that at some point in your lifetime you will feel this way as well. And then you’re left, only stuck thinking about how great it was to have gas and how you took it for granted.

This was how these two men felt now. They both knew that they caused their own situation, and yet, both would continue to blame the other.

As the passenger’s eyes peered over the crudely drawn map, he cast his eyes above, to the rear-view mirror, where through the long and outdrawn plateau a small shining golden vehicle approached.

A plain, polished yellow taxi cab arrived alongside the hearse.

“Need a ride?” Offered the middle-aged driver.

It took great strength and coordination to place the marked and stickered coffin into the back of the hollowed taxi cab, but with a countdown and many shifting of hands, you too, will find that it is possible to move any object with a bit of help. The three men stuffed themselves into the two seats, and with a nod of approval between the three, they continued on down the road.

It was nearly dusk when the scratching began. The thin passenger man heard it first, although the sound was obscured under the soft whine of the car. He heard it nonetheless.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Scratch. Scratch. Scratch.

Then the pounding began. Full, panicked fists slamming on wood, the polished mahogany, and no one could deny that the coffin shook violently, as the latches are unclasped, the coffin door swings open, and out of the lined velvet, came a shaking breath. Then a body rocked forward.

There were three men ahead of me, but all I saw were backs of heads. As I looked down, I saw my feet frozen, stuck into the velvet and upholstered coffin, and half of a torn address sticker that read Columbus, Ohio. I was in an old suit, the suit I wore to Josh’s funeral, covered in the dirt outside the church that they threw me into after I got too close to his body.

It felt as if it took me years to remember the words.

“A-Am I alive and well or am I dreaming dead?” I stuttered in a voice that was not my own.

The man in the middle turned to me, skin milk white. It was my brother Jay, now in his twenties. He responded to me, “We're driving toward the morning sun, where all your blood is washed away, and all you did will be undone.”

With a flick of his hand, the coffin came down upon me, sealed and while I scratched and clawed and begged with broken, bloodied hands, begged for them to let me out, I was lowered into a hole in the ground.

“Sir. Sir.” The words repeated with each pounding bloody fist. “Sir, sir.”

I opened my eyes to the back of a taxi cab, and a concerned looking gentleman.

“We’ve arrived, sir, Clancy street.”

After I rubbed furiously at my eyes, I glanced out the window. We are parked perpendicular to a browned and dead lawn, a cement path, a mailbox with a bouquet of balloons tied up. From the outside, the house is unchanged, red brick and gray paneling, but certain things have changed and are gone, like the patio swing that Josh and I used to sit in. A new garden section wilted under the autumn chill, spots of snow already littered other lawns.

It reminded me of my first time at the house, a modest parade of cars parked outside, balloons, no cans of beer this time.

I could leave now. There was still time.

An ancient golden retriever perched in the window barked at me halfheartedly as I made my way up the sidewalk. And with that, my cover was blown, a curtain was being pulled away, and the door opened.

Ashley’s embrace was immediate, unyielding, and suffocating. The only thing soft or light about her was her perfume, some sort of rose. She was all smile lines and auburn hair and spoke a mile a minute.

“Tyler! Ty! God, I didn’t expect you, I can’t even believe you’re here!” As I hesitated, she herded me in, cutting off my exit. I wouldn’t be surprised if she had nipped at my ankles then.

And so, I entered the Dun household for the first time in 8 years. But the faces facing me were worn, gray, and restrained. Ashley was the only one in color, a lemon-yellow smock. When I entered, all conversation ceased. Laura and Bill Dun sat on a sofa, turned toward a stereo, the seat in between them spoke volumes. From the kitchen drifted the smell of cake and a casual conversation where I recognized Jordan Dun’s voice, and another I didn’t know.

But that conversation ceased too. There was one tense moment, where I met eyes with Bill Dun, who hadn’t aged much in 8 years but had gotten meaner in the face. Laura had those exact same, kind eyes.

“What the hell is he doing here?” Bill shot up and out of his seat, sending malicious glares at his eldest daughter and myself, squaring up his chest. I, of course, had no fight in me, and stood motionless.

It was Laura that came to my first defense. “For Pete's sake, Bill, today is about Josh, leave the kid alone!” Bill shrugged off his wife and barreled toward me.

“I won’t have the bastard that defiled my son welcome into this house! I won’t have it!” His face was swollen and splotchy with anger. I remember when I had first met Bill, I had thought he looked very little like Josh, there was so little relation. But Josh would never live to the age of Bill Dun, who now stood before me, late fifties and ready to attack.

It was Jordan who was then behind him, holding him back, “Dad, that won’t do anything. Think of what Josh would want.”

“You think you deserve to show your face here? After what you did to my family?!” Bill was struggling against his son, whom he outweighed by at least 50 pounds. His voice grew louder and more frantic each sentence.

“Stop it, Bill, for Pete’s sake!” Laura cried, pawing at his back.

The man I hadn’t met yet flew out of the kitchen, and was very suddenly pushing me behind him, and then somehow, I was falling down, past the open door and on to the porch, where I landed squarely on my left arm. Pain twisted up my arm, and I gasped, sucking in air in short, staccato breaths.

Bill was still bellowing, barrel towards me, and I put my hands up, in defense and prayer. And I could have very much have been ended that day, if not for Ruby Dun.

“What’s going on?”

The voice was light as a feather, and about as delicate. Opening my eyes, her small face perfectly matched that voice. Circular face, the signature deep honey colored eyes of the Duns, and spirals of brown hair, a pale-yellow sundress with a sweater dotted with butterflies.

“Bee, sweetpea,” Ash responded in a high voice. “You were supposed to clean your room until I came and got you.”

“I did,” the girl said, wiping her cherubic face. “But it got all loud, and Uncle Josh said I should see what was happening.”

“Uncle Josh?” I repeated, and the little girl looked at me. Everyone was frozen surrounding me, and Bill still nearly on top of me, it must have looked like some strange Rockwell painting, an odd mix of suburbia and violence to the girl descending the stairs.

Ashley was quick on her feet, as always, and snapped up to attention. “Bee, come over here? I’ve got someone to introduce you to.”

The fight was broken up then, Bill Dun shuffling back into the house, but not without a long threatening gaze that I attempted to ignore. Ashley kneeled down to the little girl and pointed to me.

“Baby, this is your Uncle Tyler, the one I’ve told you so much about.”

It’s an understatement to say I was shocked. My mouth hung open like some fish, waiting to be strung up on a line.

“Tyler, this is my daughter, Ruby Dun.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A kitchen conversation sheds some not-so-complimentary light on Ashley Dun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, sorry it's been a while. I ended up chopping this chapter into two, which is why it's kinda short, mostly because I wanted to get a chapter out to you guys and I wasn't finished with how much I wanted to be by this point. But this chapter is actually still really important, so I thought it'd be good to split it up too. Enjoy! Sorry I've been a little iffy on updates, I'm graduating and trying to look for a job and boy oh boy is it hell. Once I have a predictable schedule, I'm so excited to go back to writing more and working on DeathWish too I think! Enjoy this one! x Milo

Ultimately, I was banished to the kitchen until the greeting began, and while I faked frustration, I was relieved to have a few moments without Bill Dun glowering at me. The kitchen was pleasant, if a bit warm, tea cakes and other treats spotted the table, the seven glasses of lemonade were sweating and I watched as one drop spread through the spotted tablecloth and the oven buzzed happily, the smell of vanilla drifted through the air. 

The kitchen was pleasant enough, but as always, my mind was a trap, and I was just the poor son of a bitch that had found the bait. Yes, Josh, the promise of speaking to him, the hope, was a trap. I was surrounded by strangers, the lot of them, and even Ashley, although she looked just the same, our friendship was eroded by time, and her bright demeanor was no comfort to me, it was blinding and uncomfortable. 

I had to get out. Josh be damned. It had been 8 years. I had to let go and I had to get the hell out of this house, this neighborhood, this goddamn state. Back to my dark expensive cage, where I could sit in silence and not shudder at every approaching footstep. 

It was the stranger who interrupted my quiet game of self-flagellation, with a cigarette before me that I took gingerly as the gentleman opened the window. Looking at him, he had a strange demeanor, an air of amusement and wit, as he observed me with a coy smile and creaked open the window. I relished in the cold there, for a moment, and then turned to him, a cigarette limp from his own mouth as he offered me a light. The moment was quiet and perfect, the muffled talk of Ashley and Ruby in the foyer, Bill Dun grunting along, as me and this stranger had our cigarettes. 

“You know, I didn’t know I had another brother-in-law.” The man wriggled thin, blond eyebrows at me. “It seems my wife has been keeping things from me, as always. Andrew.” He offered me his right hand, which I shook with only a little hesitation. 

“Tyler.” 

He nodded, knowingly. “I must ask you, what was my wife like when you knew her so many years ago?” 

“Well, I’d say Ashley is sort of like the sun, you know, warm, inviting, brilliant and overall, quite...” 

“Overwhelming?” He smiled. 

I do him the honor of not responding. He seems to understand. 

“Yes, I feared so much. Sometimes I feel like I’m married to the goddamn sun, her wrath sure burns like hell and heaven combined, but I love her all the same, even when we go through testy waters, like right now.” He was eyeing his cigarette, turning it over, examining it. 

“What did she do?” I offered. 

He shook his head. “No. Never her. I’m the one who mucks up,” his laugh was light but bitter. “Always me. I can’t remember it exactly now, booze makes me nostalgic and softens me a little too much. It was an argument of some sort, something trivial, it always is with Ashley, as you must know, my wife is particular. Often to the detriment of myself. I get tired, and she’s still yapping away.” He smushed the cigarette butt into the linoleum windowsill, and chucked it out the window without so much as a blink. “How long will you be staying?” 

I was tempted to say I won’t, I’m leaving now, and slipping out the front door, or maybe the back. I imagine Andrew nodding, calling me a cab, and waving me off as I disappear into the night. Maybe I’d linger in his mind for a day, but by Monday morning I’d be gone, I’d be “Tyler Who?” 

Maybe that’s why I’d been so infatuated with Josh, I was altogether forgettable, and Josh remembered my name. It took him a few weeks to come back around, and we met again simply by fate, but he remembered me. 

And here I was now, in his house, his kitchen, sipping on the same lemonade he would have, the same silverware, the same recipe of cake that had been his favorite, but he was gone. Dead. 

Andrew was still waiting for an answer. 

“A week or so. I’ll leave next Sunday. If I don’t escape into the night earlier.” 

His smile was knowing, somehow. “Yes, with us midwestern folk, all niceties set with the sun, don’t they? Daytime is for mowing lawns and barbecues, and night is for gossip, cigarettes, and seances.” He leaned in, smile suddenly slipping away. “I have to ask a favor of you. I’m afraid it’s dire.” 

“A favor from a stranger?” 

“We’re not strangers anymore. We’ve exchanged names.” 

“Is that all it takes now to ask for ask for a dire favor, as you call it?” 

He didn’t take kindly to my jaunting, and almost looked sincere for a moment. 

“You’ll be here with my daughter, and my wife. As I love her, I fear her. And I wouldn’t trust her as far as I can fling her.” 

From stranger to strange. That’s the phrase that went through my mind, looking at Andrew then, as the two of us sweated through our button ups, our cigs burnt to their end, and with it, my patience. 

“So what do you want from me?” I knew that I’d regret asking soon enough. It was usually my rule to not wriggle my way into personal business, especially between a man and his wife. But here I was, at a welcoming party for a ghost, with a family I hadn’t seen in almost a decade, claiming to be a little girl’s uncle, not on my own volition, but regardless, I was very far out of my own personal commandments. 

“Watch out for my daughter.” 

“Why can’t you?” 

He didn’t look at me then. The knowing, controlled smile is no more, melted like the ice in our now watered down lemonades. 

“Ashley and I are taking a break. After all of them leave, I will too. I’m picking up Ruby on Friday and I’ll have her for the weekend. I’m at my mother’s house now.” His voice said it all, dire indeed. 

“I’m sorry.” 

He excused my sympathy with a wave. “Yeah, well, I’m sorry too. I’m always sorry for something or another in this goddamn house. I imagine you know the feeling.” 

My response, or lack of response, spoke for me. We stood there for a few more moments, in the silence, in our own thoughts, our own guilt that often haunts men such as ourselves as the sun sets. Nicety, and kindness even to oneself, is extinguished with the final snuffing out of a candle or putting out of a lamp. My self reproach does nothing good for my wit and intelligence to this day, instead dulling my senses greater than any good drink, and it took a number of minutes before I remembered that he hadn’t told me what the dire favor was. 

“So what do you want from me?” 

“Hmm.” He considered for a moment, rubbing away at his beard. “My wife has been acting queer lately, queerer than usual. I want you to watch her, and report to me if anything unusual happens. I’ll give you my mother’s number, and you can ring me anytime, if you see or hear anything.” 

I scoffed, “And how should I know if she’s acting too queer?” 

“I trust your discretion. You seem to have a good head on those shoulders, Tyler.” 

If only you knew, I found myself thinking. 

“I’ll remind you that we are still basically strangers.” Before he can protest, I added, “Not in name, but basically by description.” 

“Yes, well...” He took a well timed stoke and exhaled the smoke, I watched as it lit up in the pale moonlight of the window. “Sometimes I’d say the same of my wife and I, and we get along, usually.” 

There was a wrap on the door then, as Jordan entered. I have always been bad with ages, but by then he must have been in his mid-twenties, but with a cold and dismissive demeanor that seemed to multiply that age. Loss had aged all of us, but not equally, as it was cruel in that way. I often awoke, even back then, with my bones creaking and found it nearly impossible to leave my bed some mornings. 

Jordan looked as if the years had been unkind to him. When I had known him, he showed the early if awkward stages of adult beauty, quite like his brother, but now, some may argue he outshone his brother, with his stronger brows and squared jaw. Anytime I peered upon Jordan Dun, I always found myself wishing it was him instead that was before me, alive and blinking, breathing, maybe smiling and laughing. Jordan did look quite alike him, but there was a bittersweetness to it, because Jordan, even in his early mid-twenties, had outlived his brother, and was now a few years older than Josh had ever grown to. Sometimes, I still dream of him, he’s my age, and he’s just gotten sweeter with age, and stronger. 

“Gentlemen. Ruby says she’s ready to start.” 

“Of course,” Andrew responded, blowing out the final tendrils of smoke from his lungs, and extinguishing what must have been this third cigarette. But then he did something very peculiar, and brought his hand to my shoulder, gave a firm squeeze, eyes locked with mine for a short moment, and then he was walking away. As he left, I looked into my own hand, where I clung to the butt of my first and then crushed it into the window pane, as Andrew had done, and followed him out, Jordan’s eyes followed me all the while. 

I felt both relieved and a new, strange feeling of dread. For all of my visit, I had found that the deep melancholy guilt that appeared each time I returned back home to Columbus hadn’t disappeared, but now bore deeper into me. 

My banishment from the kitchen had ceased. 

But now the true haunting began.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a stark difference between expectation and reality.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi I've been busy, but now I'm all graduated from college! Wow now I get to find a real job! I feel like this chapter is clunky because I wrote it like over the course of a month, so sorry about that! I'll be posting more regularly now, so see you guys in the next one. X Milo
> 
> Song: Smoke Rings by Mary Ford https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OgWpZ_Uxxbg

Being in that house was haunting enough, even without the recognition that I would soon be talking to his ghost. It wasn’t a walk to the living room, but a march. Seven white candles had been set and lit, furniture had been rearranged into a circle, and my heart only sunk. The air was filled with energy, not good or bad, but nervous. Laura Dun clutched onto the cross necklace around her neck. Bill Dun grumbled, Ashley’s tight-lipped smile was both optimistic and slightly apprehensive. 

At the head of the circle, on the opposite side, tiny Ruby sat in the large and grandiose accent chair, practically swallowing her up, her little feet didn’t even consider touching the ground. Behind her, an eighth candle, dripped crimson into its holder. Her neat dark curls were mussed by the thick silk handkerchief that obscured her ember eyes. The familiar sight sent a shiver through me and made my hair stand. 

I wondered how she, or any child had ever gotten used to this, sitting in between lit candles, feeling their warmth, but being wrapped into the darkness. A young girl of maybe 6 or 7, trained to talk to the ghost of her uncle, dead before her birth. I’d find out later that she regularly conversed with him, she loved her Uncle Josh, but had only met him after his death. 

It had been years since I’d found myself in a welcoming ceremony, I had largely avoided them in my adulthood to decent success. Thinking back on it, the only ceremony I could really remember was the time with my great grandfather, that I had taken on the blindfold, and had begged my parents the entire time to let me leave, to break the connection. I told them I didn’t want to hear the weak and ancient voice that whispered into my ears, but they refused. As they had removed the blindfold, I wasn’t surprised to find it was damp with my desperate tears. 

I had been ten. And now this little girl, barely over half that age, hummed, smiled as she waited in apprehension to speak to her Uncle Josh. 

Andrew shot daggers in my direction, from my left, Jordan sat in between him and Ashley, and to the left of Ashley was Ruby. Laura Dun gave me the mercy of separating Bill and myself and I thank her to this day for it. 

After we had all settled, Ashley sighed contentedly, and squeezed her daughter's little hand. Blindly, Ruby searched until she successfully found Bill's hand and hers disappeared behind his reddened and blotchy thumbs. But he held her delicately, and for a moment his wet brow almost softened. 

“Tyler?” Laura's palm faces up toward my face, and apologizing, I took it. 

Andrew hesitated a moment to take mine. 

Soon enough, all of us were clutching hands, one unbroken chain, and for a few moments, a wave of calm fell over each of us. With Ruby’s help, we would each have our chance to speak with the dead. Really, the talk would do nothing to relax me, in fact, it would unnerve me, as it did speaking to any specter, but I couldn’t help feeling that harsh edge softened and whittled down by the scents of cake and the smiles on each of the Duns’ faces. 

What would he have to say to us, I wondered? What had he felt, what had it been like, his consciousness taking a full 7 years to stir, to collect itself until it became something of value? Did he feel now? What had it been like, relearning, recollecting memories, was it slow like a snowball rolling down a hill, or was it an avalanche, all of those memories, all of a sudden, all at once? What did that make him think of our final moments together? 

Along with each of my absurd questions, there was a more selfish one attached to it. Would he remember me? How would he feel about me being here? Did he hate me? Did he remember what I did and what I said to him last? How would death have changed him? 

Was he still in love and was it possible we still felt the same? 

“Are you ready, Bee?” Ashley hummed in that high-pitched voice one puts on with children, still holding tight to her daughter’s hand, I imagined her swallowing it up. 

“Uh-huh!” Ruby was emphatic, excited, the little bow of her lips pulled high. 

“Then we can start. It’s just like you practiced, baby, but ask that old man permission to talk to Josh this time, and be very polite.” 

Just as in life, in death there was always the Operator. Each house had one. It was tradition to speak to the Operator first, as they could find another specter for you. It seemed that Ruby had been able to locate Josh, even without his help. Ruby was, even at her young age, of impressive and mature skill as an empath, and surprisingly capable. I had never successfully spoken to my deceased family without the assistance of an Operator. Thank God. 

You could have heard a pin drop in the room. For a moment, I thought I could hear the crackle of the candles to my left and right, the bubbles of the cheap beer Ashley had poured out into her best crystalline mugs for us. 

We all waited, patient, in the near darkness, for Ruby. Her legs stopped kicking, as her face screwed up, eyebrows knit together in close concentration. 

“Yes, hello, I’m Ruby, what’s your name? …Oh, that nice. Yes, I’d like the speak to my Uncle Josh. Joshua Dun...Yes, I can wait.” Ruby’s answers were pleasant, but as always, it was quite peculiar to only hear one side of a conversation, I felt like I had as a child, when my mother gave me a sour face after answering the phone. I’d always ask her: Who was it? What’s going on? Or the worst of them all: Did I do something wrong? 

“Uncle Josh!” She covered up her mouth then, suppressing a giggle. “Yeah, Mommy made me talk to that old man, he’s so creepy! Have you met him? Oh, you can’t see him either? Can you hear him? Hmm.” She was casual, spirited as she chatted away with Josh. 

Each of us exchanged glances, and I felt Laura Dun squeeze my hand, as she offered a slight smile to me. Ashley was beaming. Andrew and I wore equally heavy frowns. 

“Sure thing! There’s seven of us here. My Mommy and Daddy, and yours too! Yeah, Jordan’s here!” 

Jordan jerked his hand away from Andrew’s and began to wave, until he realized he was waving to nothing at all. 

“She said he can’t see anything,” Andrew remarks, in as much of a hushed voice as he can muster. 

From Bill’s babbling lips the words spilled. “He couldn’t see the other man. He didn’t say anything about us.” 

“He can’t.” I responded in a quiet but firm voice. My ears prickled under the weight of his death gaze, but I continued my long stare at my shoes. They needed a polishing. I felt suddenly aware of the hole in my sock that my big toe crept through. 

“Bill...” In the deep corner of my eye the figure of Laura moved closer to her ex-husband. 

I knew what she implied. I was the only other empath here. This was all old hat to me. Rotting, abandoned hat, but I knew the voice of a specter better than the rest of them. 

Through our hushed whispers, Ruby’s cut strong and true. “No, Abby couldn’t make it, sorry, Josh.” 

I should have been wiser. I should have prepared myself for the next question, and what would transpire. Ruby listed off 6 people. The seventh Dun, Abigail Dun, wasn’t present. But Ruby had said there were seven of us here. In my imagination, I can see him there, his spectral hand, cupped over his mouth, pressed against Ruby’s ear. 

Who is it then? 

“It’s Uncle Tyler. You know, Tyler Joseph.” 

I should talk of expectation and it’s domineering and often more sinister sister, reality. Expectation can be fanciful, dreamlike, or conversely, loathsome. One can expect a great present for Christmas and be given an unflattering frock. Or, a bride and groom can glide down the aisles and be signing papers for annulment years later. Because, you see, expectation is never truly reality. Reality is much more lucrative. God may relish the distinction between these two more than the common man, whom always prepares for his expectations, and is instead served reality. 

Despite my dullness and self-loathing, I had my expectations that Josh would be glad to see me and would have forgotten all of that petty nonsense we had discharged upon the other. I doubt that I would have stepped foot into Columbus again if not for that expectation. 

I had thought the time and the planes of sentience that now separated us would have softened myself in his mind. That maybe I could be that boy, back again on the steps of his porch, handing over my kerchief so he would have a Halloween costume. 

This time though, I had entered his house without his permission, and I would soon pay the price. 

“Well, uh, Mommy said to invite him! Yes, yes, I called him Uncle. Well that’s because he’s your--” 

A red-faced Bill Dun shot up from his chair, the chain of hands now broken. “I think that’s enough of that! We don’t really need to entertain this any longer, do we?” 

Laura was already tugging on his sleeve. “Bill!” She hissed. 

Under the calm grasp of Andrew, my palm sweated. As I stole a look at him, I caught Jordan’s eye, his grin sent my stomach into knots. It was a playful one, satisfied by the regular catharsis of my life as a viewer of a Grecian tragedy may be. 

As I was all tragedy, Bill Dun was equally theater. A play where everyone yells and no one does anything of great importance. 

Bill and I share one trait in common. We are pot and kettle. Mocking his life is mocking my very own. 

After more help from Laura, Bill was down in his seat again, huffing, and everyone’s eyes went back to the small presence of Ruby. Her face was screwed up again, balled up tight, but I knew that time what it was. 

“He wants to know why Tyler is here. Do you—Mommy?” 

Ashley, for once in her life, had nothing to say, her mouth agape, a fish waiting for some hook to sink into. “Well, I’m sure Josh wants to see him, they’re...they’re close after all.” 

Her argument sounded just as weak coming from Ruby’s lips for Josh to hear, but almost sounded more desperate. 

“He...Yes, but Tyler...Okay.” 

I should have expected it. A cold hand seemed to grasp around my stomach and tied it into knots. 

“Tyler?” Ruby regarded me. 

“Yes?” 

Poor Ruby shouldn’t have had to deliver the news to me. But she was the voicebox of the dead, and in this house, the messenger of bad news. 

“Josh doesn’t want to talk to you right now. He wants you to go.” 

… 

They gave me plenty of time to be reacquainted with my previous missteps, as I sat on the porch in silence and waited for the ceremony to end. Later, Andrew would report it to me. Josh requested that people be called in individually, a queer and intriguing reunion. Although I had just been with them, I imaged the company all full of whispers, smoke and mirrors. Was that expectation, or a dream? Sometimes they seem all too similar. 

“He’s ready for you.” 

Jordan Dun was in the doorway, leaning against the door, one leg crossed against the other. He reminded me of a statue: handsome, strong, cold. 

I paused before answering, “What if I’m not ready for him?” 

“You need another decade under your belt?” His gaze was soft but also demanding. 

“What did he ask?” 

“A few questions.” Jordan’s eyes shifted, considering, remembering. “He wanted to know how long it’s been, how he died. Then it was questions about us. How are we, what’s happening in our lives, you know.” He seemed to understand that gave me no comfort. “It’s a few questions.” He remarked, much more earnestly. “We’ve all been grilled, there’s probably not much more to talk about. He’s a ghost, Tyler, he won’t bite.” 

No. He’d do much worse than that. 

“Yes, I suppose it’s unlikely.” I stood, dusted off my pants, and returned into the house. I knew Jordan watched me all the while. 

Four empty chairs greeted me first, then the smell of stale beer. The multiple bouquets of flowers on the table had just begun their wilting, and so too, had Ruby. At my arrival, Ashley perked up, and shook a sleepy looking Ruby back into consciousness. 

“Here’s here, baby.” 

“You shouldn’t let her do this so long. She’ll get worn out.” In all my experience, speaking with specters had left me not just exhausted, but with a hollow feeling. Speaking with the dead, surprisingly, did not fill a hole, but it created a new, stranger one. 

It was a yearning, one I felt in that exact moment. 

Why can’t you be alive next to me? 

I wonder if Josh wanted the same. 

I took Ashley and Ruby’s hands into my own as they were offered. 

“Here’s here, Josh...Yes, Un—Tyler, yes.” Ruby was slow to speak at first. A breathy voice that normally floated had been deflated by exhaustion. 

In the near darkness, feeling the knots return into my stomach, I waited for him. Despite my knowledge, and how I knew communication to work, I almost expected a sign. A dark silhouette, or for the wind to pick up. 

Reality is, at its worst, sometimes, anti-climactic. 

“He says ‘hello’.” 

“Hello, Josh.” 

… 

Bill and Laura Dun had retired for the night, they left in separate cars without a glance between each other. I didn’t relax in my chair until I heard the angry grumbling of the cars peeling away from the driveway, and out into the night. 

Ashley was busy putting Ruby to sleep, and Andrew worked on the stack of unused plates, returning them to their proper cabinets. 

I was at the kitchen table alone, picking away at an overly sweet slice of carrot cake, enthusiastically piped with sunflowers. I had pulled off the icing and was working on the O in Josh when Jordan knocked on the kitchen doorway. 

“Why does it feel like a funeral in here? Today was meant to be a celebration!” He sauntered in, lighting a cigarette and placing it between his lips. Instinctively, Andrew opened the small window just behind the kitchen sink. 

“Bill must have been kept out of the loop.” I remarked; in the driest tone I could manage. It was enough to get a halfhearted chuckle out of Jordan. That’s all any of us could manage at that time. 

“Bill the Bull, as usual. Time isn’t kind to my father, and he’s not kind to it. Is anyone thirsty? I was promised real booze by Ashley, and tonight has been a bit of a disappointment.” 

Andrew shook his head. “I can’t, I still have to drive--” He stopped then, but it was too late. Jordan shook his head, seemingly unfazed, unsurprised. 

“Tyler?” He sent a look my way. 

The icing on my cake was bleeding together in the humidity. The O was a streak of red across my plate. 

“I could manage another. Some food as well.” 

Jordan clapped his hands together. “Great! A drink and food it is! Let’s get out of this Purgatory for a few minutes, shall we?” 

It was odd, walking up to the driveway, Jordan offering me the door of the familiar car. The Ford that was meant to go to Josh. At least, even if our lives are unpredictable, our automobiles and appliances will stay. Flowers wilt die in the winter, and they are plucked, replaced the next spring. 

I wondered when this winter would end. When would I be plucked out? Replaced? 

“Where to?” I asked. 

“I had a place in mind. Quiet this time of night, but not too quiet. I think you’d like it there.” 

I didn’t respond, but we both already knew, I could tell by the look in his eyes alone. The knowing look, when you know the man before you is ready to fold. As Columbus is my weakness, the Duns are my greatest flaw. 

I could never say no to a Dun.


End file.
